Friday, February 9
Thanks
Well today is the one year anniversary of the greatest blog in the world. I wanted to thank everyone for reading over the last year and all the new people in the last few days. Of course I will continue to supply you with new venomous rants on as close to a daily basis as possible. With the new book getting published and a new one already in the works, you will have no shortage of great potty time humor. Enough sentimental crap; keep fighting the good fight and join your local chapter of POOP today.
Thursday, February 8
1 in every 2 People Are Stupid
Did you know that 1 in 5 people have herpes? Did you know that the average man has slept with 19 women and the average woman has slept with 16 men? That means that everyone in the world has been exposed to herpes. Don’t you love stupid nonsense primetime news facts? I have heard that more people die of bee stings per year than shark attacks. I have also heard that no one wins the California Lottery whose last name is Smith. So if you’re white and die of a bee sting, you shouldn’t swim in the ocean but you should play the lottery.
Back to the original thought; If 1 in 5 people have herpes how is it not 1 in 1? So if I go to an NFL game, that means that 15 thousand people there have herpes? So you’re telling me that 50 million people have herpes in America. I understand that herpes isn’t necessarily an STD. You don’t have to have a boil on your bologna. You can have it via cold sores and crap. Still, I don’t see that many people rolling around town with oozing sores on their face.
I propose that either we completely do away with the “1 in whatever” scientific study or we should all be able to use it however we want. So if I want to say that 1 in 2 Americans is a loud mouthed, blowhard, douche nozzle, it should be taken as gospel and shouted from on high. Or if I say that 99 out of every 100 people named Paris Hilton are disgusting, oozing, Petri dishes, then that should be considered true.
Back to the original thought; If 1 in 5 people have herpes how is it not 1 in 1? So if I go to an NFL game, that means that 15 thousand people there have herpes? So you’re telling me that 50 million people have herpes in America. I understand that herpes isn’t necessarily an STD. You don’t have to have a boil on your bologna. You can have it via cold sores and crap. Still, I don’t see that many people rolling around town with oozing sores on their face.
I propose that either we completely do away with the “1 in whatever” scientific study or we should all be able to use it however we want. So if I want to say that 1 in 2 Americans is a loud mouthed, blowhard, douche nozzle, it should be taken as gospel and shouted from on high. Or if I say that 99 out of every 100 people named Paris Hilton are disgusting, oozing, Petri dishes, then that should be considered true.
Wednesday, February 7
POOP: People Offended by Offended People
Isn’t this a great time to be alive? We live in an age where we can do a hundred things at a time and still have some free time to spend 3 hours surfing the internet or writing stupid blogs. I am sure by now everyone has seen the Snickers commercial where two bumbling mechanics try there best to deepthroat the Snickers bar before the other one can eat it. In the process they end up getting their lips stuck together and have to do something manly to make themselves feel better. Now the hypocrite gay rights organizations say that the commercial is prejudice against gays.
Let me break it to you turd burglars. No one gives a shit about your agenda. No one gives a shit about your feelings. And no one gives a shit that you may be offended. If your goal was to get equal rights for gays, you accomplished it years ago. People don’t hate gays. People hate the gay agenda. People are sick of being told they are homophobic because they don’t want to see two furry bears butt fuck each other on primetime television. The fact that I know that there is a term “Bear” for the big guy in the relationship means that you have succeeded. Now leave us alone. We don’t need you to shove your agenda down our throats.
Much like I don’t want to hear about the plight of Muslims in America, women’s rights, or some whiny ass white guy complaining about reverse discrimination. Get over it. You want to be accepted? Then go and lead a normal American life where people keep to themselves and worry about work, family, and how to get dinner on the table. Stop fucking with what I see on TV. If you are offended, change the channel. It takes less energy to press the button then it does to rally the troops to a bitch session. If anything, you won. You got a major corporation to pay 2.6 million dollars to show two guys kissing during the Super Bowl. How much more exposure could you ask for?
It is now time for America to stop worrying about what other people are doing and saying. Everything in this country is offensive to someone. Let it go! This brings me to finally bringing to light my new cause. I know it sounds hypocritical but this new regime can end all of this nonsense. I have to give credit to the Godfather of this movement, the great Chavez. Not the screwball “President” of Venezuela but the self proclaimed President of sanity. His movement is called POOP.
POOP stands for People Offended by Offended People. The title says it all. It is a change in the thought process of America. Instead of people complaining about whatever their pet project is and getting worked up enough to rally the lawyer army, it is bent on destroying those people. If someone in America is offended, so are we, but at them for being offended. If you can’t get a spine and realize that people are going to believe what they want without your annoying agenda, then you will be the victim of the POOP Army. We are committed to ridding America of whiny panty waists. We are committed to squashing the pariahs of complaints. We are committed to destroying the regime of terror that is Big Sister. Big Sister is like Big Brother except it is run by the cry baby underlings of America. The ones who complain about the way people act while doing the same thing. So join the POOP movement. Take a stand against the oppressors of freedom, the offended.
Let me break it to you turd burglars. No one gives a shit about your agenda. No one gives a shit about your feelings. And no one gives a shit that you may be offended. If your goal was to get equal rights for gays, you accomplished it years ago. People don’t hate gays. People hate the gay agenda. People are sick of being told they are homophobic because they don’t want to see two furry bears butt fuck each other on primetime television. The fact that I know that there is a term “Bear” for the big guy in the relationship means that you have succeeded. Now leave us alone. We don’t need you to shove your agenda down our throats.
Much like I don’t want to hear about the plight of Muslims in America, women’s rights, or some whiny ass white guy complaining about reverse discrimination. Get over it. You want to be accepted? Then go and lead a normal American life where people keep to themselves and worry about work, family, and how to get dinner on the table. Stop fucking with what I see on TV. If you are offended, change the channel. It takes less energy to press the button then it does to rally the troops to a bitch session. If anything, you won. You got a major corporation to pay 2.6 million dollars to show two guys kissing during the Super Bowl. How much more exposure could you ask for?
It is now time for America to stop worrying about what other people are doing and saying. Everything in this country is offensive to someone. Let it go! This brings me to finally bringing to light my new cause. I know it sounds hypocritical but this new regime can end all of this nonsense. I have to give credit to the Godfather of this movement, the great Chavez. Not the screwball “President” of Venezuela but the self proclaimed President of sanity. His movement is called POOP.
POOP stands for People Offended by Offended People. The title says it all. It is a change in the thought process of America. Instead of people complaining about whatever their pet project is and getting worked up enough to rally the lawyer army, it is bent on destroying those people. If someone in America is offended, so are we, but at them for being offended. If you can’t get a spine and realize that people are going to believe what they want without your annoying agenda, then you will be the victim of the POOP Army. We are committed to ridding America of whiny panty waists. We are committed to squashing the pariahs of complaints. We are committed to destroying the regime of terror that is Big Sister. Big Sister is like Big Brother except it is run by the cry baby underlings of America. The ones who complain about the way people act while doing the same thing. So join the POOP movement. Take a stand against the oppressors of freedom, the offended.
Tuesday, January 30
Put it Down Monkey
This one has been beaten to death but I still don’t think the dancing monkeys have quite caught on yet. When you are piloting your 4,000 lb motorized vehicle you should put the cellular telephone down. I don’t know how else to say this so it won’t just rattle around your melon and fall back out the other side. This is not a gender specific problem. Everyone knows that most women think they can do sixteen things at once, better than a man can do one. That’s fine, it keeps me from having to do things like laundry and listening. But it takes 101% of the same woman’s brain to drive. When you insert talking, which they also put 101% into, we have an algebraic abnormality.
Case in point: I am maneuvering through a grocery store parking lot. This is dangerous territory for anyone. Kids running out into the road, cars backing out that can’t see, and beautiful melons in everyone’s carts, are all hazards to a driver. So I stop to turn left into an aisle and here comes some lesbo Oompa Loompa, in her soccer mom Suburban, jibber-jabbering on her mobile device, who is looking to turn into the same aisle from the opposite direction. Obviously she has the right of way, so I yield, until she swings so wide that she nearly takes the smile off the front of my car. After some screaming, honking and finger waving, she notices me and barely misses sending my car to the dentist for a root canal. Get off the phone you stupid whore. Is that conversation worth you buying me a new bumper? I think your butch lover can wait until later to hear about your, soon to be made fun of throughout school, adopted son’s soccer game. You know the one that he never plays in but thinks he’s an all-star. The one that he will get a trophy for at the end of the season even though the only thing he won all season was a bag of chips and a juice box at the end of each humiliating defeat.
Men are right there too. Just in a different way. Normally men tune out what is being said on the other side of the phone. But on occasion they have to pay attention. This just means that they are gay, no biggie. However it is a big deal to other drivers. When they are concentrating on listening, all of their driving skills are sapped away in the same manner as a woman’s. Also men are stupid and think they look cool with their head cocked way over like a dog looking puzzled. This not only diverts their attention from the road but makes it appear crooked, leading to unintended lane changes and accidents.
So when the phone rings and you are driving, don’t just pick it up. You don’t have to be the monkey that dances when you are told. There is no weird dude chained to you making you turn the meat grinder for spare change. Let the phone continue to ring and call them back later. You are not that fucking important. What’s funny is that the people who aren’t important jump on every incoming call while the truly important people let everything go to voicemail. So go pull a P-Diddy and drive without talking. I know you can do it. Now dance monkey!
Case in point: I am maneuvering through a grocery store parking lot. This is dangerous territory for anyone. Kids running out into the road, cars backing out that can’t see, and beautiful melons in everyone’s carts, are all hazards to a driver. So I stop to turn left into an aisle and here comes some lesbo Oompa Loompa, in her soccer mom Suburban, jibber-jabbering on her mobile device, who is looking to turn into the same aisle from the opposite direction. Obviously she has the right of way, so I yield, until she swings so wide that she nearly takes the smile off the front of my car. After some screaming, honking and finger waving, she notices me and barely misses sending my car to the dentist for a root canal. Get off the phone you stupid whore. Is that conversation worth you buying me a new bumper? I think your butch lover can wait until later to hear about your, soon to be made fun of throughout school, adopted son’s soccer game. You know the one that he never plays in but thinks he’s an all-star. The one that he will get a trophy for at the end of the season even though the only thing he won all season was a bag of chips and a juice box at the end of each humiliating defeat.
Men are right there too. Just in a different way. Normally men tune out what is being said on the other side of the phone. But on occasion they have to pay attention. This just means that they are gay, no biggie. However it is a big deal to other drivers. When they are concentrating on listening, all of their driving skills are sapped away in the same manner as a woman’s. Also men are stupid and think they look cool with their head cocked way over like a dog looking puzzled. This not only diverts their attention from the road but makes it appear crooked, leading to unintended lane changes and accidents.
So when the phone rings and you are driving, don’t just pick it up. You don’t have to be the monkey that dances when you are told. There is no weird dude chained to you making you turn the meat grinder for spare change. Let the phone continue to ring and call them back later. You are not that fucking important. What’s funny is that the people who aren’t important jump on every incoming call while the truly important people let everything go to voicemail. So go pull a P-Diddy and drive without talking. I know you can do it. Now dance monkey!
Monday, January 29
The Day Has Come
The day you have been waiting for has finally arrived. Bigger than the Super Bowl, more intimidating than the Third Reich, and with more cursing than a drunken Irish tirade; the book is finally complete and for sale. I promise you won’t be disappointed. Well not really but I promise you’ll enjoy it (If you are fully inebriated and on laughing gas). Big ups to my co-author Ontrider and the artist extraordinaire Kid Insano for putting in the time and effort to get our first book up and running. If there was ever a roadmap to peace, it would be a Californian, Canadian, and Ohioan working together for the good of the world.
To purchase or preview the book, click here….. http://www.lulu.com/content/654940
To purchase or preview the book, click here….. http://www.lulu.com/content/654940
Thursday, January 25
The Great Wall
Why do men’s urinals have a small wall between them? Why doesn’t it go all the way down to the floor and it doesn’t go up above most men’s chest? I find this absurd because there are two things no man should ever do in the bathroom: 1) Checking out another man’s shoes and 2) No man should ever look another man in the eye while his junk is exposed.
I feel that we should go to a policy of full length walls between urinals. I certainly have nothing to hide but it only invites conversation between men while pissing. It’s one thing to annoy me with conversation while I am in line at the market but if I don’t know you, do not talk to me at the urinal. In fact, if I do know you, don’t talk to me at the urinal. And if someone wants to talk to their life-mate while pissing, you can talk through the wall. Men and women have been yelling through walls for years.
So please, bathroom design guy, get rid of the mini-wall. After all, you saw the faults in the hole in the ground and the horse trough, why not this one too. One last thing; bring back the full length urinal. Nothing beats being at a restaurant and your kid comes out of the bathroom yelling “Daddy, I peed on the floor”.
I feel that we should go to a policy of full length walls between urinals. I certainly have nothing to hide but it only invites conversation between men while pissing. It’s one thing to annoy me with conversation while I am in line at the market but if I don’t know you, do not talk to me at the urinal. In fact, if I do know you, don’t talk to me at the urinal. And if someone wants to talk to their life-mate while pissing, you can talk through the wall. Men and women have been yelling through walls for years.
So please, bathroom design guy, get rid of the mini-wall. After all, you saw the faults in the hole in the ground and the horse trough, why not this one too. One last thing; bring back the full length urinal. Nothing beats being at a restaurant and your kid comes out of the bathroom yelling “Daddy, I peed on the floor”.
Monday, January 22
The Big Game
As you may know by now, I don’t usually right about certain things. Politics, Religion, and Sports have pretty much been off the table. Not because I’m not a fan of these or that I don’t have an opinion, it’s just that my opinions are always right and therefore many of you would get very upset to find out your long held belief of Jesus as your savior is simply debunked by the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
With that said; I am taking a reprieve from my reprieve and talking about football today. With “The Big Game” looming in 2 weeks, it seems appropriate to expound on the two teams making the journey down to Castro’s Beverly Hills (That’s Miami folks). Let’s start with the Bears.
I pretty much hate the Bears. Why? Because they aren’t the lovable, defensively oriented team that everyone wants to love. They stink. They play in the weakest Division in the weakest Conference. They get 2 games a year against the Packers, Vikings, and Lions. They also played one of the weakest schedules in the NFL. When they do play someone over .500 they tend to get their asses beat (The Saints gave them the game on a Crisco covered platter). I can appreciate the team but I am sick of the ballywhooing by the media on how good they are and the bitching that their fans do that they don’t get any respect. I also can’t stand Wrecks Grossman. What a shitty NFL quarterback. I always wonder if his Offensive Line gets in cahoots with the defense to get him pummeled now and then. The Bears Defense must hate having to save his ass every game.
The Colts. What can I say? I hate the Colts. Actually I just hate Peyton “Paycheck” Manning. I know he works hard and is a great guy. After all, the fucking media won’t shut up about that. But I want to kick him in the nuts every time he starts dancing around like a cracked out, schizoid, marionette. Just hike the fucking ball Paycheck! We all know you aren’t doing anything back there. Save your energy for your next commercial you fucking sellout.
So who do I root for? I root for a six beer buzz and some chicken wings. If the Bears win, my Stepdad is happy and so is this crazy reverend I know in Chicago (Muckology, try it). So I should root for the Bears so they can be happy? Hell no. Neither knows jack about football and therefore cannot appreciate what it takes to win. They shall suffer. So I am rooting for the Colts? Hell no! I hate Peyton Manning so much, I don’t want to hear the never ending barrage of media flip from “He can’t win the big one” to “He’s the greatest of all time”. So I have two choices. The game can be tied to eternity and never end until all the players drop dead. Or, a more plausible choice, the Colt’s win but Paycheck goes out in the first quarter with an in grown pube and cannot return except to watch the big one get away again but in a most ironic fashion.
Or maybe I’ll go wine tasting.
With that said; I am taking a reprieve from my reprieve and talking about football today. With “The Big Game” looming in 2 weeks, it seems appropriate to expound on the two teams making the journey down to Castro’s Beverly Hills (That’s Miami folks). Let’s start with the Bears.
I pretty much hate the Bears. Why? Because they aren’t the lovable, defensively oriented team that everyone wants to love. They stink. They play in the weakest Division in the weakest Conference. They get 2 games a year against the Packers, Vikings, and Lions. They also played one of the weakest schedules in the NFL. When they do play someone over .500 they tend to get their asses beat (The Saints gave them the game on a Crisco covered platter). I can appreciate the team but I am sick of the ballywhooing by the media on how good they are and the bitching that their fans do that they don’t get any respect. I also can’t stand Wrecks Grossman. What a shitty NFL quarterback. I always wonder if his Offensive Line gets in cahoots with the defense to get him pummeled now and then. The Bears Defense must hate having to save his ass every game.
The Colts. What can I say? I hate the Colts. Actually I just hate Peyton “Paycheck” Manning. I know he works hard and is a great guy. After all, the fucking media won’t shut up about that. But I want to kick him in the nuts every time he starts dancing around like a cracked out, schizoid, marionette. Just hike the fucking ball Paycheck! We all know you aren’t doing anything back there. Save your energy for your next commercial you fucking sellout.
So who do I root for? I root for a six beer buzz and some chicken wings. If the Bears win, my Stepdad is happy and so is this crazy reverend I know in Chicago (Muckology, try it). So I should root for the Bears so they can be happy? Hell no. Neither knows jack about football and therefore cannot appreciate what it takes to win. They shall suffer. So I am rooting for the Colts? Hell no! I hate Peyton Manning so much, I don’t want to hear the never ending barrage of media flip from “He can’t win the big one” to “He’s the greatest of all time”. So I have two choices. The game can be tied to eternity and never end until all the players drop dead. Or, a more plausible choice, the Colt’s win but Paycheck goes out in the first quarter with an in grown pube and cannot return except to watch the big one get away again but in a most ironic fashion.
Or maybe I’ll go wine tasting.
Friday, January 19
Random Rants
If you’re a man, and if you’re reading this I would assume you are, do you peruse the bevy of nose goblins after clearing their cave into a Kleenex?
How hard is it to hold the elevator for someone who is 8 feet behind you? Thanks a lot you bitch.
When a store runs a sale, and you get there 3 days after the sale starts, and they are out of whatever it is you were looking for, they didn’t do it on purpose. It wasn’t a conspiracy against you. Get over it.
Harleys are the biggest stereotype affirmer in society. You are all dirtbags.
When a freeway splits into two and you are going to the left hand freeway, get the fuck out of the far right hand lane.
To the guy in the SUV who has a fresh key mark and a few mucus balls on their door; it’s called a compact spot for a reason. Squeezing through my trunk to get in my car is not normal operating procedure.
Hey liberal commie who wouldn’t shut up about his political beliefs for 30 minutes while I was trying to enjoy my lunch at the ski resort; Bush is not the cause of all your problems, John Kerry did not have a distinguished military career, Al Gore is not right about global warming, and Hillary Clinton will not make a great President.
If you are excited about the iPhone, you should go stick your head in a garbage disposal. That phone is already available from 4 other companies. Stop sucking Steve Jobs twizzler.
The Office is the greatest show on television. For every annoying Dwight, there is a more annoying Andy.
How hard is it to hold the elevator for someone who is 8 feet behind you? Thanks a lot you bitch.
When a store runs a sale, and you get there 3 days after the sale starts, and they are out of whatever it is you were looking for, they didn’t do it on purpose. It wasn’t a conspiracy against you. Get over it.
Harleys are the biggest stereotype affirmer in society. You are all dirtbags.
When a freeway splits into two and you are going to the left hand freeway, get the fuck out of the far right hand lane.
To the guy in the SUV who has a fresh key mark and a few mucus balls on their door; it’s called a compact spot for a reason. Squeezing through my trunk to get in my car is not normal operating procedure.
Hey liberal commie who wouldn’t shut up about his political beliefs for 30 minutes while I was trying to enjoy my lunch at the ski resort; Bush is not the cause of all your problems, John Kerry did not have a distinguished military career, Al Gore is not right about global warming, and Hillary Clinton will not make a great President.
If you are excited about the iPhone, you should go stick your head in a garbage disposal. That phone is already available from 4 other companies. Stop sucking Steve Jobs twizzler.
The Office is the greatest show on television. For every annoying Dwight, there is a more annoying Andy.
Book News
Good news for me. The book is at the publisher and the first copy is almost in my co-authors grubby little Canuck paw. Once we review it, it will be available to all. I will post up when and where you can get it. We are keeping the price down. If it does decent, we may do a book every 6 months to a year.
Tuesday, January 9
Who Got Served?
When I think of stomping the yard, I picture putting on my favorite pair of lawn aerating shoes and going to town. However there is a new connotation of the term. From what I can see, it is a way that people can show their dominance over others through some sort of con-fangled interpretive dance that involves a large group of fraternity brothers stomping and jumping in front of other large groups of fraternity brothers. I know what you’re thinking. This guy is racist since stomping is an Afro-American thing. Far from it; if you read my articles, you would know I am an equal opportunity offender. I’m not racist unless stupidity is a new race type and I missed the memo.
Back to stomping.
There is a new movie out called “Stomp the Yard”. I haven’t seen it and, unless someone wants to send me some tickets and my hourly rate to watch this abortion, I won’t be. This is not the first movie about this phenomenon. I can’t remember the names of any of the others because they were unmemorable. Although who could forget “You got Served”. I hoped that movie, being a self-parody without trying, would be the end of this genre but I guess I was wrong. I will never forget the 2 months that people went around saying “You got served” instead of “Burn”, or “Face” or even the ‘80’s classic….”Moded”.
I have heard rumors that this stomping phenomenon is widespread. I have even heard that there are stomping studios. Now that is capitalism at it’s finest. Find a stupid fad, get in on it early, then teach the sheeple that come along later how to do it; all the while laughing at these yahoos for paying money for you to teach them how to look like asshats. There is also a large homosexual undercurrent involved in a large group of guys who live together, dancing in unison while, more men who live together watch and wait their turn. Very homosexual gangbang-esque. Regardless, I am sure this now mainstream “Sport” will be oh so uber-cool for the next couple weeks until the movie is pulled from theaters. Which should make you happy and the Stomp Teachers a little richer. Viva la Reagan Revolucion!
Back to stomping.
There is a new movie out called “Stomp the Yard”. I haven’t seen it and, unless someone wants to send me some tickets and my hourly rate to watch this abortion, I won’t be. This is not the first movie about this phenomenon. I can’t remember the names of any of the others because they were unmemorable. Although who could forget “You got Served”. I hoped that movie, being a self-parody without trying, would be the end of this genre but I guess I was wrong. I will never forget the 2 months that people went around saying “You got served” instead of “Burn”, or “Face” or even the ‘80’s classic….”Moded”.
I have heard rumors that this stomping phenomenon is widespread. I have even heard that there are stomping studios. Now that is capitalism at it’s finest. Find a stupid fad, get in on it early, then teach the sheeple that come along later how to do it; all the while laughing at these yahoos for paying money for you to teach them how to look like asshats. There is also a large homosexual undercurrent involved in a large group of guys who live together, dancing in unison while, more men who live together watch and wait their turn. Very homosexual gangbang-esque. Regardless, I am sure this now mainstream “Sport” will be oh so uber-cool for the next couple weeks until the movie is pulled from theaters. Which should make you happy and the Stomp Teachers a little richer. Viva la Reagan Revolucion!
Friday, December 15
Be Aware in the Concrete Jungle
I have made it a habit to pick up my kid from school as close to the dismissal time as possible. Not because I don’t like waiting but because I pretty much hate people. One of the parents of a kid in my son’s class is one of those sea-donkeys that can’t keep her fat piehole shut. She is of the species Cantshutyourmouthapus, which is a mix of a large flapping yap and a hippopotamus. This species tends to live in and around schools, grocery store lines, the mall, and if you are cursed, next to your cubicle at work. Beware of them; they can’t look quite tame until you come within earshot. Then they emit a sound-wave that impairs the victim long enough for the Cantshutyourmouthapus to feast on the soul of the victim.
This particular Cantshutyourmouthapus picks off victims at random as they walk past the classroom door. One day I was outside of her lethal zone, and observing her in her natural habitat. An unsuspecting victim walked by with a 3 year old in tow. Unfortunately the child placed the victim within striking distance when he yelled “Mommy, I have to go pee-pee.” The mom responded with “Were going now.” With which he replied “No we’re not”. Like a crocodile lunging at a deer drinking from a river, Cantshutyourmouthapus struck. “They can be so defiant at that age.” This was like a lure used by a Venus Fly Trap. The mom took the bait and glanced at her. WHAM! Due to FCC regulations, I cannot describe the carnage that ensued. Let’s just say that the mom will have to learn how to stand up and pee if she wants to avoid the lifelong use of a catheter.
So please people, if you see the Cantshutyourmouthapus in the wild, do not approach it. Your best cause of defense is to always keep a chocolate bar in you pocket or a DVD of the latest Oprah Show. When spotted, throw either towards the Cantshutyourmouthapus and run in the opposite direction.
This particular Cantshutyourmouthapus picks off victims at random as they walk past the classroom door. One day I was outside of her lethal zone, and observing her in her natural habitat. An unsuspecting victim walked by with a 3 year old in tow. Unfortunately the child placed the victim within striking distance when he yelled “Mommy, I have to go pee-pee.” The mom responded with “Were going now.” With which he replied “No we’re not”. Like a crocodile lunging at a deer drinking from a river, Cantshutyourmouthapus struck. “They can be so defiant at that age.” This was like a lure used by a Venus Fly Trap. The mom took the bait and glanced at her. WHAM! Due to FCC regulations, I cannot describe the carnage that ensued. Let’s just say that the mom will have to learn how to stand up and pee if she wants to avoid the lifelong use of a catheter.
So please people, if you see the Cantshutyourmouthapus in the wild, do not approach it. Your best cause of defense is to always keep a chocolate bar in you pocket or a DVD of the latest Oprah Show. When spotted, throw either towards the Cantshutyourmouthapus and run in the opposite direction.
Tuesday, December 12
Mooooo
We are so evolved as a society. We always put ourselves on a pedestal high above those lower than us on the food chain. However, as we devolve back towards the protozoan from whence we spawned so many years ago, we begin to take on the characteristics of the beasts we feel superiority over. I recently went on a short flight of approximately 80 minutes on the nefarious cattle drive airline based in the bastion of ignorance (That’s Texas for ya’ll). I’m sure you’re aware of the boarding procedure where you are assigned a letter and boarding is based on that letter. What blows me away is that the lemmings not only put up with this shit but embrace it. They log in 24 hours before departure to get the coveted “A” boarding pass. They get to the airport 2 hours early and start waiting in line. Wait! Let me put on my big boy pants cause that doesn’t make sense. You stand in a line for 2 hours in order to score a coveted seat on an 80 minute flight? What an asshat.
Not only do they check in their luggage, they check their courtesy as well. The first group runs into the plane like a crowd of nerds at a Leanord Nimoy appearance. They have to make sure and take every aisle seat. Then the next group goes in and has to squeeze past each of those monkeys to get to the second most coveted window seat. All the while the original asshats get disgruntled because they have to get up to let them by. So now we have every window and aisle seat full in the plane. Then come the lepers of group “C”. They look at each middle seat with utter disgust and have to ask the original asshat if they can get up so they can then take every last inch of room that was once in the row. Of course the original asshat is ticked off again because he had to get up. So now we have everyone pissed off, the original asshat because he had to get up twice, the monkey for having to squeeze past the asshat and feel the asshat’s wrath, and finally the leper for ruining what was left of a frat house sausage-fest.
Of course the leper, having to run to get to his flight, wait in line in order to not get the last seat left out on the wing, and being in middle, now has to show ass to the monkey and groin to the asshat in order to use the lavatory before he pisses himself. He should just stay in the bathroom, there’s much more room in there anyhow.
Not only do they check in their luggage, they check their courtesy as well. The first group runs into the plane like a crowd of nerds at a Leanord Nimoy appearance. They have to make sure and take every aisle seat. Then the next group goes in and has to squeeze past each of those monkeys to get to the second most coveted window seat. All the while the original asshats get disgruntled because they have to get up to let them by. So now we have every window and aisle seat full in the plane. Then come the lepers of group “C”. They look at each middle seat with utter disgust and have to ask the original asshat if they can get up so they can then take every last inch of room that was once in the row. Of course the original asshat is ticked off again because he had to get up. So now we have everyone pissed off, the original asshat because he had to get up twice, the monkey for having to squeeze past the asshat and feel the asshat’s wrath, and finally the leper for ruining what was left of a frat house sausage-fest.
Of course the leper, having to run to get to his flight, wait in line in order to not get the last seat left out on the wing, and being in middle, now has to show ass to the monkey and groin to the asshat in order to use the lavatory before he pisses himself. He should just stay in the bathroom, there’s much more room in there anyhow.
Thursday, November 30
Hello Again, Naturally
It's been a while. I haven't posted in a week or so for good reason. Reasons you don't need to know and I won't be telling you. Well, I'll tell you one reason. I am writing a book based on this blog along with some crazy Canuck I met online at a gay porn website. We are putting the finishing touches on it (The book, not our twizzlers) and it should be available by mid December. Complete with Chapters, pages and even some pictures for the illiterate. So I expect all my readers to buy at least 3 copies. This will lead to record sales of 3 copies and making me rich in the lessons of failure. I'll keep you updated but the blog may be silent for the next week or so due to fleshy mammals being plucked from other fleshy mammals. Bust out the decoder ring and figure that one out.
Thursday, November 16
"We're living in a society, people"
I was in the super sized handi stall this morning, enjoying some quality time with the porcelain La-Z-Boy, and the tranquil peace of an empty bathroom when some douche-nipple saddles up to the stall right next to mine. READ THE FUCKING RULES ASSHAT!
http://thisnamenotavailable.blogspot.com/2006_02_13_thisnamenotavailable_archive.html
http://thisnamenotavailable.blogspot.com/2006_02_13_thisnamenotavailable_archive.html
Tuesday, November 14
Holi-Daze
It’s that time of year again. No, not the time to choke down some dry nasty turkey and some funky ass cranberry dessert shit, it’s christmas shopping season. (I have not capitalized it on purpose, the last thing we need right now is more Christ….get it, “Mas Christ”?). I love the holiday seasons, if only for the shopping experience. You see, while celebrating the coming together of families and friends, we make our annual pilgrimage to the mall to knee some blue hair in the tit, while attempting to rip a “Stick your finger up my ass” Elmo out of her crusty, arthritic hands. It’s fantastic. Taking up two parking spots with my beater car so that Jennifer the soccer mom has to park her super extended Suburban out in the asphalt desert. Getting to the toy store and hiding all the Power Rangers in the men’s bathroom stall. Purposely not holding the door open for the bitch with her arms full of crap and stealthily slipping ice cubes into the Salvation Army bucket. I love forcing my kid to the front of the Santa line so that he can blow ass all over Santa’s lap. But I do have one thing that I am very torn about.
How great is it to get a gift card to your favorite store for christmas? You get to go out when everything is on sale, and buy what you want. No one goes and buys an ugly ass sweater or a bundle of socks (Thanks Grammy), they get something cool. Here’s the kicker. Remember when you could spend $45 of a $50 gift card and they gave you $5 back? You could hit up BK on the way home for a little christmas pick me up? Or for you pervs, you could get that $5 in singles and go to the titty bar? What happened to that? Now you either have to spend over the amount on the card or simply throw away the card with $3.78 left on it. What a crock of nacho cheese! Why hasn’t anyone petitioned Congress to force the retailers to give me my fucking change? Why hasn’t there been a class action lawsuit in regards to this. I have heard statistics that over $100 million a year gets made by retailers due to unspent gift card change (Ok, I made that up, but it has to be close.).
How great is it to get a gift card to your favorite store for christmas? You get to go out when everything is on sale, and buy what you want. No one goes and buys an ugly ass sweater or a bundle of socks (Thanks Grammy), they get something cool. Here’s the kicker. Remember when you could spend $45 of a $50 gift card and they gave you $5 back? You could hit up BK on the way home for a little christmas pick me up? Or for you pervs, you could get that $5 in singles and go to the titty bar? What happened to that? Now you either have to spend over the amount on the card or simply throw away the card with $3.78 left on it. What a crock of nacho cheese! Why hasn’t anyone petitioned Congress to force the retailers to give me my fucking change? Why hasn’t there been a class action lawsuit in regards to this. I have heard statistics that over $100 million a year gets made by retailers due to unspent gift card change (Ok, I made that up, but it has to be close.).
Tuesday, November 7
MY HR PR MO.....
One of the crappiest things to ever come out of the political correctness phase that our country has slipped into, like a fat chick in a thong bikini, is the fact that employers cannot hire people based on their qualifications or personalities. They must be hired based on how stupid they are or what color their skin is. Therefore, since we can’t ask the important questions like; “Why were you fired from your last job” or “How many dogs have you sexually molested”, we only need to make a quick visit to the applicant’s house.
Think about the co-worker you hate. Usually they are the same person who steals other people’s bagels out of the fridge or have the funky smelling cubicle. I propose the interviewer be allowed to visit the applicant’s abode for ten minutes and have a 3 day window after they are hired, to see how they use the company’s communal property. For example: The guy who refuses to replace the paper towel roll that he just used or has his lasagna explode in the microwave and doesn’t clean it up, is the same guy who procrastinates on his projects and wreaks of fish. The problem could be solved by heading to his house and seeing the plates stacked in the sink because his dishwasher is broken (In reality he just doesn’t know the door has to be closed to start it) or has a nacho cheese stain on his plywood and cinder block coffee table.
The middle aged lady who is about 75 pounds overweight and spends most of her day chugging venti caramel macchiato frappucinos and taking sixteen smoke breaks is the same person who at home has six cats and a permanent ass imprint in their couch. Of course cat lady does nothing but complain about how inconsiderate her co-workers are, all the while forcing you to see the six thousand pictures of her cat in her cubicle and the constant smacking of her eating bags of M&M’s. Once again, a preemptive home visit would prevent her from ever setting her cloven hoofs into the office.
Of course we cannot forget the nagging bitch. She’s the one who writes notes on everything from the refrigerator to every square inch of her office. A quick pop in would show you that she actually is a domineering child abuser who’s husband is afraid of her and her kids have CPS on speed dial. Of course she gets promoted over you because no one wants her in their group for more than six months. All you can hope is that her husband goes Jet Li on her ass and buries her in the backyard before she becomes the next CEO.
Think about the co-worker you hate. Usually they are the same person who steals other people’s bagels out of the fridge or have the funky smelling cubicle. I propose the interviewer be allowed to visit the applicant’s abode for ten minutes and have a 3 day window after they are hired, to see how they use the company’s communal property. For example: The guy who refuses to replace the paper towel roll that he just used or has his lasagna explode in the microwave and doesn’t clean it up, is the same guy who procrastinates on his projects and wreaks of fish. The problem could be solved by heading to his house and seeing the plates stacked in the sink because his dishwasher is broken (In reality he just doesn’t know the door has to be closed to start it) or has a nacho cheese stain on his plywood and cinder block coffee table.
The middle aged lady who is about 75 pounds overweight and spends most of her day chugging venti caramel macchiato frappucinos and taking sixteen smoke breaks is the same person who at home has six cats and a permanent ass imprint in their couch. Of course cat lady does nothing but complain about how inconsiderate her co-workers are, all the while forcing you to see the six thousand pictures of her cat in her cubicle and the constant smacking of her eating bags of M&M’s. Once again, a preemptive home visit would prevent her from ever setting her cloven hoofs into the office.
Of course we cannot forget the nagging bitch. She’s the one who writes notes on everything from the refrigerator to every square inch of her office. A quick pop in would show you that she actually is a domineering child abuser who’s husband is afraid of her and her kids have CPS on speed dial. Of course she gets promoted over you because no one wants her in their group for more than six months. All you can hope is that her husband goes Jet Li on her ass and buries her in the backyard before she becomes the next CEO.
Thursday, November 2
The New Coke
I am a self-proclaimed energy drink junkee. I have tried just about every one of them and feel I am informed enough to have an opinion about them. Not that I don’t have an opinion on everything and my opinion is actually more of a fact but I digress. Here is what I don’t understand about them; why are they so expensive? Red Bull is the quintessential drink and the leader in pricing. It is at least 2 bucks at any convenience store (Yes I know you can get it at Costco for less but I don’t need 24 of them right now) for an 8 ounce can. That’s $32 for a gallon. I can fill up my fucking car full of premium gas for less than that. Must be the shortage of taurine in the world.
Why is there such a discrepancy in size? You can get 8 ounces all the way up to 24 ounces in a can. Yet they all seem to have the same amount of energy crap in them. If I want 24 ounces of fluid in my body, it better be jagermeister or kool-aid (The most underappreciated drink of all time). Plus they have the dumbest names. NOS, Monster, Pimp Juice, Red Bull, Rockstar, Power Trip, Go-Girl, Wired, Green Dragon, and so on. What the fuck is Pimp Juice? Reminds me of a gene shower, from a velvet stick man, with some high top stilettos, and feather boa. NOS? I would rather have some real nitrous and it’s probably cheaper. Go-Girl? Is that what guys drink before going to the Blue Oyster for some cosmos? Rockstar is probably the only aptly named one. When you crash from that 24 ounce Rockstar you downed at lunch, you feel just like a coked out rocker who found himself curled up on the bathroom marble, with his finger in some groupies ass.
Why is there such a discrepancy in size? You can get 8 ounces all the way up to 24 ounces in a can. Yet they all seem to have the same amount of energy crap in them. If I want 24 ounces of fluid in my body, it better be jagermeister or kool-aid (The most underappreciated drink of all time). Plus they have the dumbest names. NOS, Monster, Pimp Juice, Red Bull, Rockstar, Power Trip, Go-Girl, Wired, Green Dragon, and so on. What the fuck is Pimp Juice? Reminds me of a gene shower, from a velvet stick man, with some high top stilettos, and feather boa. NOS? I would rather have some real nitrous and it’s probably cheaper. Go-Girl? Is that what guys drink before going to the Blue Oyster for some cosmos? Rockstar is probably the only aptly named one. When you crash from that 24 ounce Rockstar you downed at lunch, you feel just like a coked out rocker who found himself curled up on the bathroom marble, with his finger in some groupies ass.
Wednesday, November 1
Here I Sit Broken Hearted......
Why do public bathrooms have those funky screws? You know the ones that can only be tightened and not removed. When did that start? Was there a rash of bathroom stall door thefts back in the sixties that led to people losing their pissing privacy?
Too Many Questions
Who the hell invented the webcam? This is something I have never understood, this webcam concept. First off, as far as men are concerned, the only thing the computer is good for is porn (Not me but other men, you reading this honey?). So why would you want anyone to have the opportunity to see your before and after face? Second, nothing good has ever come from a woman (Actually, I think it’s mostly teenage girls) using a webcam with a man on the receiving end. It either ends up getting the guy in trouble with the local or Federal authorities or the girl on YouTube. Has there ever in the history of webcams, been a decent picture of someone? People always look like a sleep deprived fish.
Wednesday, October 25
The Pregnancy Rebuttal
I love hearing women talk about how if men had to be the ones to get pregnant and deliver a baby, there would be no babies. Let’s expound a bit. Their first and foremost reason is that we couldn’t handle the pain. Then they infer that the baby is going to somehow be brought into this world through a man’s snake eye. Really? You’re telling me that this would be your hypothesis? Obviously the thing isn’t going to come out of my nose, or ear, or mouth, it’s coming out the brown eye. Just like a chicken. Now to top that off men would need to be able to dilate their bay door. It certainly wouldn’t be fair for women to dilate 10cm and not let a man, right? So now we are talking about a more even playing field. If you saw some of the big dogs that have come out of my back door, you would definitely see that with an additional 10 centimeters, I could deliver Shaq (But only up until he left Orlando).
So the delivery part is solved. Let’s talk sustenance. Obviously my moobs are not going to engorge to deliver the needed nutrition. But I do own a double beer helmet with two straws. I also know how to put water in a bottle with some formula. Sometimes I even wash out that white boogery stuff that gets stuck inside.
Now we have brought the ankle biter into the world and provided it with nutrition. Here comes the hard part. Motherly love. As much as I love kids, I love other things more; picking my nose, watching re-runs of Matlock, sleeping. So I am going to have to concede this part, which is why women give birth and take care of the baby. Men like shiny things and are drawn to them like a wino to a buzzing beer light, it would take very little to distract a man long enough to lose track of time. So much so that before the commercial is over, the baby is eighteen and stealing your money, your car, and your 20’s and 30’s.
So the delivery part is solved. Let’s talk sustenance. Obviously my moobs are not going to engorge to deliver the needed nutrition. But I do own a double beer helmet with two straws. I also know how to put water in a bottle with some formula. Sometimes I even wash out that white boogery stuff that gets stuck inside.
Now we have brought the ankle biter into the world and provided it with nutrition. Here comes the hard part. Motherly love. As much as I love kids, I love other things more; picking my nose, watching re-runs of Matlock, sleeping. So I am going to have to concede this part, which is why women give birth and take care of the baby. Men like shiny things and are drawn to them like a wino to a buzzing beer light, it would take very little to distract a man long enough to lose track of time. So much so that before the commercial is over, the baby is eighteen and stealing your money, your car, and your 20’s and 30’s.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
